Cowboy
by Southern Spell
Summary: The old man stared down at the headstone.Jack Kelly.1882 1905.A Hero.He laughed at the last part.It was a hollow and humorless sound,that shattered the soft silence.I added a Part II
1. Part I

Cowboy 

By: Southern Spell

Disclaimer: I do not own anything.

The old cowboy pushed his gnarled hands into the pockets of his pants and stood, staring down at the head stone that had taken him over an hour to find in the massive cemetery. Fresh snow continued to fall as old memories flashed in his mind. The gravestone wasn't very big, but then it didn't need to be for its simple purpose.

"Jack Kelly. 1882-1905."

Frank laughed at the last part. A hollow and humorless sound, that shattered the soft silence.

"A Hero."

The man had known Jack Kelly, known him better than anyone. Kelly had been a decent young man, a bit of a liar, but one who did not mind stepping up to do what was necessary when people needed him. But a hero? The old man shook his head. Kelly's friends had been too generous with the statement. The man thought of all those friends. His memory lingered on a certain girl. She had loved Jack, Jack had loved her. Or at least it was the closest Kelly had ever come to love. Over the years Frank had not forgotten her, of all the other faceless 'darlin's', not her. He hadn't forgotten the boys either. The newsies had been the closest thing to family he had ever known. It was probably the only time in his life that he missed.

But the day Jack Kelly died; there had been no going back for Frank, until now. It was forty years ago to the day. He doubted that anyone he knew then, if they were still alive, could recognize him now. He was the only person who knew what really happened to the young man. Frank had put an end to Jack Kelly.

It was four decades ago, but with the snow falling all around, the old man thought about the day he had got on that train bound for Santa Fe, to live out Kelly's dream of being a cowboy. He had left behind the only people who had ever given a damn about him. The newsies, David, Spot, that girl…He had spent the night before Jack's death wondering if he would get caught. It been exciting and had made him feel like a nervous mess. Now the only things ol' Frank felt was weariness and regret. He had done many things he wished he hadn't, but leaving New York was his biggest mistake. With a heavy sigh he lifted the sack he had set on the ground next to him and pulled out an old, ragged cowboy hat. Jack's hat. He set it on the gravestone.

The biggest mistake Frank ever made was when he stopped being Jack Kelly.

A/N: I wrote this during my math class today and kinda liked it. I hope you did too. review and tell me what you think.


	2. Part II

Cowboy

Part II

A/N: I don't think this is quite as good as the first part, but I don't think its all-together bad either. Just read and find out for yourself. Then review and tell me what you think.

P.S.: I own nothing.

If she had known how little time they would have had together, she would have told him she had loved him. Instead, she had been waiting for him to say it first. She had suspected he did, but she could never be for sure. Jack Kelly's talent of improving the truth didn't stop at words, his actions could be just as dishonest. She supposed he did deep down, even if he would not come right out and say it. Especially since, he had rarely given his attention to any one girl for more then a month before her. He had given her four years of devoted affection. It gnawed at her to this day still that he had never asked her to marry him. She wouldn't have thought twice about saying yes if he had.

The gray haired woman, still full of grace despite her years, move the flowers she had in her left hand to her right. It had been forty years since he had died in the fire. She had married since then, had children and grandchildren, but every year she came back at least for this one day. This one day belonged to Jack Kelly. She loved her husband, but even now she still caught herself wishing they were Jack's children. No matter what she did, and no matter how long it had been she just couldn't forget her first love.

She fingered the piece of cloth that was stuffed inside her pocket. It was Jack's red bandana. He had used it one night to wipe her tears away with, she had meant to give it back but she held on to it for weeks, not quite ready to part with the symbol of such a sweet jester. Then one night it was too late to ever give anything back to Jack. The night he had died, a part of her had gone with him. Even now, the memory of that night bore too much pain for her old heart to dell on.

The woman pulled her coat closer to her frail frame. The day was cold, and snow was coming down. This slowed her, but didn't stop her. Her head was held high as she weaved through the graveyard. She had promised herself she would not cry this year.

As she neared her destination, she saw the strangest thing. It was an old cowboy placing a cowboy hat on top of the very headstone she had come to visit. She stood back a few paces, giving him some distance. She knew he had not heard her approach. After a few long moments, he finally turned around. When he saw her, the cowboy looked surprised to say the least.

There was something about the man that she couldn't quite figure out, but he seemed familiar. She gave him a polite smile. He only stared at her; he looked like he had seen a ghost.

"Hello." She greeted trying to break the awkwardness. He whispered her name. The gray haired woman frowned. "Do we know each other?" She doubted she had ever met this cowboy before.

"We did along time ago," he said. Her frown deepened. "I was one of Manhattan's newsies," he supplied.

That's why he looked familiar; she thought to herself, he was one of Jack's boys. "I didn't you boys still came around anymore." She told him.

"It's the first time I've been back since the night of the fire." She could detect the slightest trace of a New York accent. "Do you come here often?"

"I'm afraid I only come once a year now. Life just seems to get in the way too often for me to come out here like I did when I was young." She confessed.

The old man watched as she bent down to place the flower on the grave. She knew it was an empty grave since there was never a body found after the fire, but she felt a little better by doing it. "You've came out here every year after the fire?" He seemed taken aback by this knowledge.

She nodded. "I could never seem to fully get past him."

There was a pause and then he asked, "Did you ever find someone else?"

The old woman sighed. "Yes. I married my husband, but it was a good seven years later. I had children and now I even have grandchildren." She shook her head sadly. "But I still miss Jack. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him." The old woman felt silly telling this man so much, when she didn't even really know who he was, but he had known Jack. That alone gave them common ground, a small bond.

"So do I." It was only three little words but she heard the regret in them.

Another pause passed between them. The old woman found the cowboy a comforting presence as she studied the hat he had set on the headstone. "Where did you get that hat?"

"I had it from way back when." It was the only answer he offered her. She let it go at that.

"It was good seein' you again." He told her, before he turned to leave.

"Wait." She said. "I didn't catch your name."

He turned back her way. "It's Frank."

As Frank walked his way back to the train station, the old woman's words kept ringing in his ears: _"But I still miss Jack. Not a day has gone by that I have not thought of him."_

After forty years she still came back. After forty years she still loved him enough to do that.

He shook his head at the guilt that settled inside of him. She had remembered him after all this time.

He found that the little part of himself that he thought he had killed off along time ago; he felt it began to ache again for what could have been. That little part that could bring him to his knees. That little part of him that was still Jack Kelly.


End file.
